by Ward Fulton
"All too soon we were aware that the sheets were wet, with the water from the shower, with our own sweat, and even with the juices of our sex. With a sigh James climbed out of bed and then held out his hand to me. We went like that, hand in hand, back to the shower, as if to a dreamy lullaby.
"The water was warm, soothing to flesh banged and battered through sex. And we were gentle with one another-oh, conscious that we were male and female, but very considerate, very tender with one another. Finally, James stood me on a stool, as on a pedestal, and softly dried me with one of the hotel's big, fluffy towels, being especially tender with my cunt and legs and very gentle with my breasts. Then he toweled himself, almost briskly, and we left the bathroom hand in hand again.
"By mutual consent, without a word, we bypassed James's rumpled, mussed, and damp bed and moved on to my room. We climbed into my nice, wide bed and curled up together, our bodies naked, each absorbing warmth and comfort from the other. And we slept like that all night. I think it was the first time we had ever spent an entire night together-unless it happened when we were very small children-and certainly the first time we had slept naked together.
"The awakening was just as sweet, a little drowsy, with both of us a bit fuzzy from physical weariness of our fucking. And then there was laughter. James's hair stood up in spikes, a confused tangle, as if he had combed it with an eggbeater, and I probably looked worse, my hair a scrambled mass.
"This time we went to our separate baths and did a little grooming, mostly, I think, so we wouldn't shock the bellhop when he brought us breakfast-I know I had that idea-and came back to sit at the table by the window and wait for the enormous breakfast we had ordered. I know I felt starved and James went right along with my order of grapefruit, cereal, a double order of bacon, scrambled eggs, a double order of toast, marmalade and an extra large order of coffee.
"I think the extra large order of coffee was a sort of defiance of Mother, since she still served us milk at meals, considering us children. I know we attacked that breakfast as if it might be made illegal any minute, and enjoyed every bite, until I sat back in my chair feeling faintly stuffed but still nibbling at a bit of toast, sipping my third cup of coffee.
"We weren't in the least self-conscious about what we had done. Just relaxed, fulfilled, and comfortably replete with breakfast. I mean, there weren't any guilt feelings. Not with me, anyway. Right from the start our relationship had been natural, uninhibited, and delightful.
"There was tenderness and closeness, more than we'd ever known as simply brother and sister. Along with that there was the knowledge we had of each other, of each other's bodies, even, it would seem, of each other's minds. As if we were in tune, making a harmony together. As we lolled there in somnolent ease, sex was only a very small part of it-only the delicious languor that sex brings and leaves in its wake, if it's good sex. All the tensions and worries of the concert were swept away on that tide of languor.
"Even our practice session, in a rented studio, working with rented pianos, went smoothly. And at the concert that night we could smile across the pianos at each other, playing together in music as we did in bed, with passion and with that new maturity.
"Perhaps I am a fool to want to end something so idyllic, but, honestly, I'm afraid of it. Now we are too close, too much in harmony, too aware of each other when we're out on the concert stage. Oh, it's done something for our music, I'll grant. Or I think that's what has done it, which amounts to the same thing.
"I've tried to break away from too complete a dependence on James. He has done the same. In fact, he did it first I know he brought this girl up to his room and laid her. A cute girl. I rather liked her, as a matter of fact. But James felt guilty, even though I wasn't jealous. Or don't think I was. I tried not to be. Oh, I was hurt at first, thinking I wasn't satisfying him.
"He tried to explain it-his taking this other girl to bed. Mostly, I think such explanations are a mistake. This wasn't. Because what he said made sense. Like me, he was feeling we were too close and he said, 'I wanted to see if sex was as good with someone else.' And shook his head. 'It wasn't nearly as good as ours, as what we have.'
"Of course, it could have been the girl, who might not have had the same rapport-or maybe she just wasn't as good in bed.
"I know I tried out a young man, a bellhop. But not, as you might imagine, in retaliation. I actually wanted to know if it was something special James and I had, or if any man's dong in me would give me the same thrills, the same wonderful sense of relaxation afterwards.
"It happened like this.
"I was being very lazy that day, after an especially difficult concert. James had gotten up earlier and gone out. I was just lolling on the bed, naked. I rarely wore night clothes, and there was only a light sheet over me. I suspect I was very well outlined, lying there, when this bellhop came in, bringing breakfast that James had ordered for me.
"He was very circumspect In fact, quite proper. Perhaps even overly proper in not letting his eyes stray too often to me as he laid out the breakfast things. Whatever was done, I did deliberately.
"I was almost sixteen then and very well developed. I had what the boys in the band joked about as 'a real pair of knockers.' My breasts were small but firm and high, nicely rounded. I had a nice, flat little stomach and long, slender legs. You could say I shaped up very nicely. I was, to hear the boys in the orchestra tell it, 'very well stacked,' even though none of them up to that time had made any real play for me. I was part of the 'star turn' and they were only the background music-which means there's a strong division. They could joke with me but they didn't quite dare to make the first play to make me.
"So I was rather sure I was 'a good thing' in the girl department. And that day I made the most of it. I teased. I slid one leg from under the covers and let the bellhop-his name was Alan-get an eyeful of it. And when I sat up I just somehow managed to let the sheet slip, showing one boobie, holding up the sheet with one hand and smiling at Alan. He could figure, if he couldn't actually see, that I was naked.
"And he still remained quite proper, though you could have hung your hat on his eyes. So I let the sheet slip just a little more, until he could see one full breast and the rounded top of the other, and I swung both legs over the side of the bed, managing to let the sheet expose me practically to my cunt, just held in place with one hand that was managing to jiggle one tit.
"I could tell from the expression on his face he was intrigued, and the bulge throbbing in his rather tight trousers meant he was more than intrigued. He wanted me. He wanted to throw his sex meat into me. And I wanted it to happen. It was no longer just a curiosity, an interest in seeing if all men were the same, physically. I was getting wrought up, really worked up, just over the idea of a man-and Alan was a, man, about twenty-three, I'd say-throwing his dong into me. Oh, yes. I've become adept at phrases like that.
"I squirmed a little on the bed, the very motion against the undersheet stirring things up, and dropped the sheet, so that it lay across my lap, like a bikini-a very small, easily removable bikini. I smiled at Alan and held out my arms. There was no mistaking the intent, the invitation. I didn't intend there should be.
"Alan moved toward the bed, slowly, as if he were hypnotized and as if he still weren't quite sure of me. When I brushed the sheet aside and let him see all of me, he moved faster, almost with a rush. Oh, I don't mind admitting I was a brazen hussy, acting like a real slut Yet when he was so close I had a moment's panic, in spite of the fact that I now wanted him to fuck me, wanted it with all my being. I positively squirmed with desire-and let him see it.
"Alan stopped just as he reached the bed, putting out a hand, tentatively, to touch my breast, as if trying to believe it was real. Then he dropped to his knees, which put his face right level with my breasts, and caught my shoulders, pulling me toward him. He kissed first one breast and then the other, and ended up crushing me against his mouth, sucking hungrily at my nipples.
"I could feel it al
l the way to my cunt, suddenly hot and gradually opening. I could feel the hot lips unfolding. I could feel the new tightness in my chest and the knotting of my stomach, almost painful, and the chokiness in my throat.
"I closed my eyes and just gave myself up to sensations, to the stirring in my breasts, the stiffening of my nipples, the tightness in chest and throat, and the wonderfully hot flashes in my cunt. So I knew this was going to be real good. Deep and satisfying.
"It was. Very Good. Alan had shed his uniform and worked out of his tight trousers when I opened my eyes again. His prick was erect, throbbing, a crystal spot of juice on the tip, aimed at my cunt as my legs draped over the edge of the bed. He slid my rump closer to the edge, until my hot little cunt was right up against the blue-purple knob of his prick.
"I had a momentary qualm then. I had never been fucked like that, by a man kneeling between my legs. It was new, startling and suddenly very, very interesting, very exciting as his legs rubbed against the inner sides of my thighs, forcing them wider as his knob thrust against my cunt, pushing out the opening lips, touching the soft, sensitive inner lips.
"I moaned as his prick rubbed across my clitoris, and Alan eased me down on the bed, playing with my breasts and nipples even as his prick thrust into my cunt, pushing aside the lips and then entering in one hot, exciting rush. He bent over me, kissing my navel dimple, sliding his tongue over my breasts and nipples.
"All the time his dong was driving up me, not hurriedly but certainly rapidly, and I could feel every slight motion of his knob expanding my tunnel, pushing on beyond any place I could even imagine. Until his pelvis was hard up against my mound and moving with a rhythm that teased my clitoris.
"I wasn't sure of how to move in that position, but it didn't seem to make any difference. Any movement added to the intensity of excitement, until we moved together in a rhythm that built and built toward a climax that seemed to tear me apart. I could feel the swell of his come as it shot up his shaft and burst into hot excitement far up me.
"It brought that wonderful release of climax for me. I burst almost with him into pouring out juices, letting my whole body flow into that excitement And then the sense of violent urgency faded, slowly, with each shivering motion, and my first fuck, with a strange man was over; or almost.
"Alan was gentle with me, as if I were something fragile, as he turned me and stretched me out on the bed-and left me. That wasn't what I wanted. I wanted and needed the comfort of his body next to mine, to ease the tensions and nervous flow of sex. But, of course, he had to be on duty.
"Another time, he promised, he wouldn't have to rush off and leave me. Except that there wasn't another time. We had to move on, to meet our schedule. I'll always remember Alan for the things he taught me, about position, about the way he could tease and arouse my body.
"Since Alan I have had a number of young men, mostly the boys of the orchestra, who have slept with me, fucked me. Some of them were admirable lovers, some indifferent, thinking only of their own physical needs and not considering mine. And, of course, I have had James.
"Perhaps it is only because James was my first lover, but I know, for me, he is the most satisfactory, even though I know, equally well, he isn't even as good, technique-wise, as some of the lovers I have had.
"I am getting older. James is a grown man. Both of us recognize our hang-up, and we've fought it. It isn't good. It's not a healthy situation. I know that I must break away from this infatuation for my brother. I must learn to lead a more normal life. Perhaps even get married some day. I can't make the break without help, as I have found out. Even if such a break means breaking us up as a musical team, but I don't think it necessarily will."
Since both partners in this incestuous relationship earnestly wish to end it, the possibilities are favorable that, with psychiatric guidance, they will accomplish it, possibly even without serious damage to their musical partnership. Chapter 3 Jill: Out for a Thrill
"So who's crying? I got caught with the goods, didn't I? Three cakes of hash! Ha! Three cakes of hash! In Marrakech you send out a boy with ten dir-haras and he brings you back three cakes of hash. Or maybe only two, and keeps one for himself. Do you know how much ten dirhams is? Two dollars. One ninety-eight, if you want to be accurate. Do you think that for two dollars I'd risk going to jail?
"No, I didn't stuff any three cakes of hash down in a shoe. Who'd be so foolish? It's probably the first place the customs boys would look. If I was smuggling, I'd smuggle it in in my bra. Even customs guys would think twice about looking in a girl's bra. When she's wearing it, that is. Oh, they might look at my bra, because of what I've got in there- and they're nice, if I do say so myself. No, I wasn't smuggling any hash. Or keef. Or anything else. I don't use the stuff. I get my kicks in a different way.
"I know who did stuff that junk in my shoe. Or I can give a pretty shrewd guess. My ever-loving bastard of a brother, Stan. No, I don't mean he's a bastard in that sense. Or is he? You know, could be. And maybe that's why my mother and father had to get married. Legally, I mean. They're swingers. Real swingers. Always have been as far as I know. So maybe they could have had a little accident-my brother, Stan. And gotten married. Why my mother ever let me happen I'll never know. Probably drunk as a skunk. Alcohol's their hang-up, not grass or hash or keef or any of the drugs. So far as I know, anyway. And I would. We've romped around the world enough together, following 'the season.'
"When you had a couple of grandfathers who were real squares and spent all their time piling up a few millions, what's to do but spend it? Father's father made his in plumbing fixtures and mother's made his in whiskey-distilling it. And they have been working at keeping the distillery going by drinking up the product. Or anybody else's. Mother's partial to French champagnes; father likes bourbon but will drink anything with a high enough alcoholic content Even retain that tastes like cough medicine with resin in it. Oh, sure. I've tasted it. In Athens. And ouzo. That tastes like they dissolved licorice in it, but it's got a kick like six mules. I sampled that, too. On the Kialto in Venice. I've tasted most of the stuff they swig down, but just a taste. I never liked any of it. Except maybe very good Pol Roget. That tastes like cider with sparkling water. But better. The 'natural'-I never did like the pink, which is for tourists.
"When mother and father started taking me on their trips-I was thirteen or so, then-they thought it was 'cute' to give me sips of their drinks. And see me get tiddley. It never took much more than a sip to do it, then. And I didn't like it. I mean, I felt like a performing bear or something, getting tight for their amusement Maybe that's why I never really learned to like the stuff. Oh, I can drink now. And hold it. But I still don't care much for it. Like I said, I get my kicks in another way-sex.
"Stan gets his from junk. Keef, hash, grass, speed, LSD. I don't think he's on the hard stuff-H-yet. And I know he doesn't think much of pop-opium- even though he owns a pipe. From Morocco. The stuff is real easy to get there. Right in the market. The Jamaa el F'na in.Marrakech. The Club is just across the square from it.
"The Club? That's the Transit Club, one of a string, all around the world. For real swingers. They have them every place where there's real fun to be had: Paris, Marseilles, Toulon, Athens, Istanbul, Venice, Hong Kong, Macao, Singapore-which is otherwise pretty staid, even stuffed-shirtish, despite Boogi Street. Oh, just about everywhere, I guess.
"They're very private and very, very expensive. To keep out the hoi polloi. And just about anything goes, starting with nude bathing. And ending up with a very competent doctor to straighten you out afterward, up to and including abortions if you happen to forget your Pill. The paraldehyde consumption must be very high-for sobering up those who get the DT's. But mostly they're just for swingers, people who like their fun easy, such as wife-swapping and buggering, with maybe a little daisy-chaining along the way.
"The boys at the Club are very accommodating-for a price, of course. And I understand they have girls-some very young ones, I heard-that take car
e of anything the men happen to require. Or the women. I never went in for the lesbian stuff, so I wouldn't know. I take my sex straight-more or less.
"I was fourteen, pretty near fifteen, before I knew anything about the clubs. Maybe my parents just joined up about then. Or maybe the clubs were just being formed. I know they're rather new. Anyway, we stopped off at the one in Marseilles, the year I was fourteen. And probably a little stick-in-the-mud. I certainly wasn't a swinger, then.
"Can you imagine anything duller for a kid than a club for swingers? The other times I'd been abroad we'd stopped at the George V in Paris or the Ming Court in Singapore or the Carlton in London. At least from those places you could always get a tour going somewhere-mostly to museums and cathedrals. Or tombs and temples. I'd gotten awfully fed up on museums and cathedrals and temples but they're better than sitting around reading old magazines or chewing your nails down to the elbow.
"Even Stan was bored with the club. He was seventeen, then, and just beginning to get horny but a little backward about asking for a girl. They'd have probably sent one up for him if he had. I know we had just had a session in the pool-nude bathing. Which did nothing for me, really, seeing old men with bellies flopping around in the water and women who had lost their figures making like they were gay young things. Of course there were a few of The Beautiful People-my father and mother among them-but they generally stuck together and didn't pay much attention to us kids.
"Except for one man who kept eyeing me and speculating. You could almost hear his computer working. So maybe I did show off a little, thrusting out my tits-I had fairly nice ones by then-and floating on the surface with my legs open, to show my cunt.